Results, Revolts and Repercussions
by ravenromance27
Summary: The harbinger of doom arrives at the doorstep of the Vongola Famiglia and this time there's no other way left but to meet it head on. Time for the Vongola's head to come face to face with the greatest battle of his life.
1. Game Set

**Authors Note: ** Ok. So here I am again. Why am I writing this? Seriously I have a vague idea of what I wanted but I haven't quite reached that part yet. So this is a beginning…kinda like when you buy a book anticipating that it might be good enough to keep and not chuck at the most convenient jerk who comes your way. Sorry…I haven't written in a while, my inner writing self is cranky. Please help me soothe it.

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_**If you can smile when things go wrong, you have someone in mind to blame.**_

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_**I. Game Set**_

In the usual mythologies and existing literatures of the world, a harbinger of doom usually arrives with enough pomp, parade, and fanfare worthy enough to eclipse the mundane lives of the masses so that they could very properly express their awe, anguish and despair.

No decent portent of doomsday slinks in and sits to watch and wait until some unfortunate soul stumbles across its message of destruction. No self-respective herald of total destruction simply allows itself the luxury of being ignored.

But as was their way and wont, this was not the case with the powerful Vongola Famiglia. For this centuries-old family, their personal harbinger of doom descended upon of them like no thief in the night. Instead it passed through the front gates of the heavily guarded citadel known as the Vongola Estate with a nary a sign of opposition, waltzed through the front door of the mansion and straight across the grand foyer into the very heart of the Vongola Famiglia's seat of power carried there by the innocent hands of two of the current head's most trusted.

* * *

_**72 HOURS before Doomsday…**_

The day started out in idyllic serenity. The warm Tuscan sun illuminated the white marble mansion, gilding every wall, nook and cranny that made up the impressive century old edifice known to all and sundry as the Vongola Mansion in liquid, shimmering gold. A refreshing breeze blew in from the gardens, bringing along with its cooling caress the unmistakable perfume of hundreds of flowers growing in riotous profusion and the sweet tangy aroma of freshly mown grass. Anyone who came upon such a scene should've been charmed...held in thrall by the magnificence of waking to god's own paradise.

Any other Saturday morning and such a scene would have normally commenced in an afternoon picnic, hastily planned, boisterous, slightly chaotic and messy but enjoyed immensely by all. Any other Saturday morning and a slight figure, clad in simple clothing might've been seen, lounging in the sun, surrounded by an enthusiastic trio of children, joyfully twining daisy chains as they laughed the day away. Any other Saturday morning and snorts and screams could be heard echoing from somewhere in the midst of the impressive mansion, followed by the unmistakable sound of something exploding and the sight of pink smoke emerging from some distant window or another.

But not this one particular Saturday. Today the mansion stands eerily still and silent. An unmistakable frisson of tension pervaded the entire estate-a silence that seemed to emanate...from within its very heart, within its very core. This Saturday morning there were none of the usual pealing laughter that used to make the old mansion come alive instead here and there all one could see are the serious, somber visages of a few men and women, clad in their signature black ensemble, standing a little too still, a little too stiff as they lounged and paced along one empty hallway to the next, leaning against pillars and windowsills, hands tucked deep into pockets, others idly tapping mobile phones, holding hushed snatches of conversations in a dark corner or two. When a door quietly swung open, all of them tensed, hands reaching into pockets and all eyes trained on the figure that appeared from within. The level of tension in the room kicked up a few notches higher when the figure was approached by one of their numbers, a tall, muscular man in his prime, cool blue eyes and blond hair, dressed in the same impeccable and ubiquitous black suit gave the figure a short, respectful bow.

"_Una mattinata intense, Eminenza_."

A small smirk painted the lips of the figure that emerged from the room. A short nod and a beat later the two figures started walking towards another hallway, the gathered throng parting very much like the proverbial red sea in the wake of their strides.

"A very busy one indeed, Vicenzio. You have mobilized very quickly, I see."

Vicenzio merely nodded, his eyes still alert, sharp and ever mindful as he glanced at figure walking beside him. He stopped at once when he noted the ornate pair of carved double doors. He gave a brief rap and waited for the murmured response from within before turning once more towards the figure that accompanied him.

"My men and I owe our lives to the _famiglia_, _Eminenza_. We would not have the _Famiglia_ feel any cause for shame or complaint."

"Indeed." Again, a faint smirk was all the reaction Vicenzio received for his words but he didn't find the fact offensive. The man he was speaking with was notorious for having the best poker face in the entire mafia world. Nothing, not even the threat of an upcoming situation, could've altered this man's control over his emotions and reactions.

"He has been in there since early this morning. His steward said he declined breakfast. He has been waiting for you _Eminenza_."

"I see."

"_Eminenza_, he—when he spoke to me yesterday—he was not like his usual self…he seems, sad, I think. Troubled."

"He doesn't like doing things like these."

Vicenzio nodded and looked at the closed doors once more. He cleared his throat and told himself that what he was about to say wouldn't get him killed. The words needed to be said, that is all. He is a loyal vassal to the famiglia and as such, there are certain duties that must be upheld.

"Our lord, he is very gentle-hearted _Eminenza_. Too much, we think, at times. But, in this matter, we know he will do well. The other famiglias—will we send word to them?"

He waited anxiously for his companion's response and when it came, it was all he could do not to show his disappointment and disbelief.

"No. There will be no need."

"_Eminenza_-!"

"Leave it to me. Inform the others to remain on standby."

He truly wanted to argue but this was not a man he could, would or should willingly defy. This was the man whose very reputation alone could swing the tide of many a battle. He, despite his own feelings, knew better than argue with the man that stood nonchalantly in front of him

"As you command, _Eminenza_."

"Has **_HE_** been in contact with the Famiglia?"

The emphasis alerted Vicenzio of exactly who it was his companion meant and he tried, futilely, to repress the shiver that crawled up his spine. He was well aware that he didn't succeed fully and his eyes shifted nervously as he gave his report.

"_**H-he**_…the _guardian_ in question only left a short message to the Head of the CEDEF, _Eminenza_. But we—we beg your indulgence Eminenza, we cannot decode the message—and I—"

"Tell me the message."

"**They're here."**

Vicenzio's eyes widened in consternation when his companion suddenly gave a short bark of laughter and a delighted grin settled on his lips.

"Ah…"

If the sudden urge to bolt wouldn't have been deemed so unmanly, Vicenzio surely would've considered the fact but unfortunately he was bound not just by his own honor but his own sense of duty as well. Squaring his shoulder, he forced cold lips to part and speak once more.

"E-eminenza?"

"Better tell your men to prepare fully Vicenzio. We might be up for a rough ride."

"Yes, Eminenza."

He gave a short, sharp nod and started to turn away when the man's voice called for him once again.

"And Vicenzio?"

This time, he didn't try to deny that the tone of his companion's voice did nothing more than chill his blood. He tried valiantly not to gulp.

"Y-yes, Eminenza?"

"I am assigning you to coordinate with **_him_** when he arrives."

"Eminenza, I-I was hoping to survive this war…"

"Don't worry. If you follow plans and not get in his way, you just might."


	2. Big Trouble from Little Tokyo

**Authors Note:** KHR doesn't belong to me, we've established that. Can we stop torturing me now? By the way, it wouldn't hurt Akira-sensei to make a continuation on how our beloved "Dame-Tsuna" acts as a boss. Just a suggestion, mind you.

Moving on. Still haven't hit my writing stride. It sputters and dies like a really, really bad motor running on a bandage, spit and prayers. Hopefully, it will create something that won't make me cringe. Here's to hoping. And thanks for those amazing guys who reviewed this and all my other works. It warms my heart to see you take pleasure from my attempts.

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**Big Trouble in Little Tokyo**

_"Sometimes I lie awake at night, and I ask, __**'Where have I gone wrong**__?'_

_Then a voice says to me, "__**Uhm… yeah…right. This is going to take more than one night**__."_

_-Anonymous_

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You know how it is when people come up to you and say that they need to tell you something and when you actually bother to respond and waste your time caring despite your own less than stellar existence then they tell you it was nothing and just to forget about it? Well, this wasn't one of those times. This is one of those times you wish it was the kind that would just get you pissed-not pissed and then killed.

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_**Namimori, Sawada Residence**_

Thursday night, as was her custom, she made a phone call to the Chief Adviser of the _famiglia_ to tell him that the children will be on their way according to their usual schedule. This routine has been established since her son has taken on the mantle of the _famiglia_ head and has never been diverted from, unless one of the children was sick or had prior commitments in school. When the Chief Adviser inquired as to any other developments, she only made a breezy comment about some young men who stopped her a couple of times when she went out to shop and assured the adviser that she already spoke to that quiet young man who used to patrol around Namimori just like her son told her before he left. She assured the Chief Adviser was nothing was amiss and didn't think any further about the matter.

So that weekend, when Sawada Nana kissed her three young children goodbye and entrusted them to the care of the men who usually picked them up to bring the airport, she certainly didn't think anything different about the fact that there were twice as many men now as per the usual arrangement. She certainly never even once suspected that the car that normally idled by had the latest bullet-proof, shatter-proof, anti-tank reinforced shell guaranteed to withstand anything but a direct hit from a jetfighter's rocket.

She certainly didn't think any differently about the sudden arrival of workmen who claimed to have been sent by her loving husband to reinforce the house's security and to make 'minor' repairs on the house since she and the children spent most time just inside the house. She could only watch in awe as they installed security cameras and assured her that it was all pretty standard for a home security. Never mind that her house now hosts one of the most state-of-the-art security systems ever created, one that could rival Fort Knox courtesy of the famiglia's trio of Imagineers.

She certainly didn't mind the sudden procession of guests and friend who found numerous reasons to suddenly drop by and make an appearance. And she certainly never thought twice about the small flat package that she reminded her eldest charge to bring with him, situated comfortably snug between the pages of one of the most coveted books in all the Mafia World nor did she even have the faintest inkling of the utter chaos it would soon bring to her very doorstep.

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_**Narita Airport**_

The bi-monthly pilgrimage from Namimori to Italy by the Decimo's three wards was a thing choreographed to near perfection after three years. The flights plans, airport transfers, baggage detail car service and security had been ironed out so seamlessly that it's like watching a rocket launch to the moon. Of course when you consider who is being ferried and who is waiting at the end of the line, it gives you enough motivation and incentive to get the job done and done quite well. Everyone knows exactly what they needed to do, when they needed to do it where it had to be done and who are the ones that need to be involved to get the matter done. Nothing like the looming threat of violence and retaliation from the one source you know for damn sure could deliver.

Airport security has grown inured to the ideals and foibles of the moneyed elite. The ground crew had certainly had their share of divas, despots and dilettantes showing their penchant for over the top drama that they've grown pretty immune and desensitized to all but the most bizarre scenes. They have seen far too many strange goings-on to react much to the sight of three school age children, two young boys and a girl ranging between ten and fourteen, lugging their own bags while surrounded by several black suited guards. They certainly didn't react when they noticed that the eldest of the trio carried a steel attaché case embossed with an elaborate shield and a short chain that was looped around his thin wrist. The ground crew certainly didn't blink twice when the curly haired boy tripped and several orbs that looked suspiciously like grenades tumbled out of his unusual curly hairdo. Toys, they assured themselves, just another rich boy playing soldier. They barely noticed when the sole female member of the day's entourage was rattling of recriminations towards the curly haired boy next to her in what was clearly a foreign language all the while keeping her eyeballs fixed on the book in front of her face. The ground crews were professionals. Nothing could faze them. Not even when the young boy suddenly stopped in the middle of the private tarmac where their private jet was idling nearby and pulled an enormous oddly colored bazooka out of his hair, jumped straight into the nozzle and pulled the trigger. They didn't even blink when a thick pink cloud suddenly engulfed everyone and a young man stood clutching the bazooka with no young boy in sight. They were professionals. They even managed to give their signature jaunty salute once the small jet taxied off the runway and flew off to god knows where. When they went in to fill out the paperwork for just another customer serviced, they all agreed that was just another customer, just another day. No one questions them when they all went to file a week's long vacation before going home.

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_**The Vongola Stronghold, Italy**_

He watched the small convoy of vehicles pull into the long driveway and stop right in front of the mansions sweeping stone steps. The middle car, a sleek black town car, had its door opened immediately and a flurry of limbs came tumbling out of the vehicle, arms and legs and lanky bodies all scrambling to be the first to step out, words and conversations flowing like a bubbling brook, eager as puppies to be the one to reach the embrace of the one who patiently waited for them somewhere inside the large mansion, arms held wide open and a welcoming smile on thin, sweet lips.

"I wanna tell him!"

"...No I want to tell him!"

"Hey, come on, settle down you two..."

"You should tell him about the other thing-!"

"Why should I? You should tell him! He told you no more 'boom!' and that's all you did Lambo!"

"I didn't do anything like that!"

"Ipin, Lambo, now, now..."

"Someone should tell him about those idiot guys who hang around Maman. So someone should tell-!"

"Tell me what?"

"Tsuna-nii...!"

"Look again stupid cow."

"You! What are you doing here?"

"Listening to you."

"Where's Tsuna-nii?"

"He'll be along shortly. Now, why don't you start at the beginning stupid cow."

"It was nothing!"

"Nothing?"

"Yes nothing! It was nothing! Nothing! Nothing at all-!"

"Is that so?"

"Yes, that it so, you bully. It was nothing. I won't tell you something when it's nothing."

What followed was a barrage of huffing and puffing and declarations of intent. Odd how a custom, well-oiled, precision model Beretta 92FS's hammer being pulled back could effectively silence even the most vehement protestations. Even more so when a smooth, slick voice simply states:

"Oh really?"


End file.
